


Two Minds Adrift

by Wildcard



Category: League of Legends
Genre: Alternate Universe - Pacific Rim Fusion, Drift Bond, Drift Compatibility, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-11
Updated: 2018-06-11
Packaged: 2019-05-21 00:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,653
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14904842
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wildcard/pseuds/Wildcard
Summary: PACIFIC RIM AU.When the Void starts sending Kaiju through the breech in the ocean, all of Valoran pulls together to build and man Jaegers.Darius and Talon turn out to be drift compatible. Neither of them are happy about it - at first.





	Two Minds Adrift

**Author's Note:**

  * For [nequas](https://archiveofourown.org/users/nequas/gifts).



> Gift written for [noxianhand](https://noxianhand.tumblr.com) on tumblr, using their backstory for Darius!

“A lot of the pilots are brothers,” Draven says, leaning back and stretching in his chair. “Draven thinks that you and Draven would make a spectacular team. Those Kaiju will be too busy watching to remember to fight us.”

Darius snorts but says nothing. He agrees with his brother – they use similar weapons, they have trained together, they know each other’s secrets already. To have Draven in his head, reading his thoughts as the drift allows partners to do, would be the least invasive option.

Of course, it’s always possible that Darius will be rejected as a pilot. While he doesn’t think of himself as old, piloting a Jaeger takes a toll on the body and pilots are all expected to be in prime physical condition by the standards of the Piltovians who created the Jaegers.

Darius has never been one to run from a fight – and if Draven is going to be in a Jaeger, he’d rather be with his brother than trust Draven to a stranger – but no fight has ever demanded that he let another person into his head.

* * *

 

The Jaegers were a Piltovian invention, a last ditch effort to fight against the Void monsters that rose from the ocean and came at Runeterra from all sides. They had insisted that everyone with combat kills be tested - to be drift-compatible was so rare that only compulsory testing for piloting skills would stand any chance of identifying enough pilots.

Everyone fought individually against Piltovian bots and then the results were scanned into a program that compared fighting styles and preferred tactics for potential matches. When a potential pair was identified, they were called to a testing center for hand-to-hand combat, then hooked up into a neural network akin to a Jaeger machine for the final test.

* * *

“Talon.” Darius says bleakly, looking at the sheet of paper that bears the name of his drift partner as well as the time, date and place for their first training session together. “Are you sure the matching scheme is accurate?”

“None of the pilots they’ve suggested have failed yet,” Swain says, fingers smoothing over Beatrice’s head. The feathers lie flat for mere seconds after his fingers pass over them, Swain petting her the way that a lesser man might fidget with a button or scarf. “If they think you are most likely to be compatible with the Blade’s Shadow, then the chances are high that he is your best match.”

“We could refuse.” The words cost Darius to speak (he does not run from fights!) but he voices them anyway. “Cite the need to keep Noxian strategies and secrets.”

“The Demacians already sent their heir to be a pilot. The Kaiju threaten all of Valoran. To look as if we are content to sit back and be defended by Demacians…” Swain needs not say anymore. The grimace that distorts Darius’ face makes it clear that he’s understood Swain’s point.

Silence for a little, then Swain asks, “Do you believe he will be indiscreet?”

“No.” Darius shakes his head, the answer coming easily to his lips. For all that Talon prefers to serve himself than Noxus, the boy is no traitor – and besides, Talon seems fond of him. He debates explaining that to Swain, then decides it is unnecessary information. “Whatever he might see of our interactions, _joonam_ , he would not speak of it to anyone. Nor of any Trifarix secrets.”

Swain pursues his lips, studying Darius shrewdly for a few seconds, “And yet you are still unnerved.”

“I would have preferred my brother.” No need to speak of the shame in his past, no need to mention what he had done to survive. “Talon is very young and while we work together well on the battlefield, his style of combat is very different to mine. I don’t see why the scientists chose him as my best match.”

“Perhaps you will fail during the first test, then, and all our concern about the mind link will be for naught,” Swain suggests.

“Perhaps,” Darius agrees neutrally but the thought of failure  _rankles_.

* * *

“It’s a dialogue, not a fight,” the scientist tells them as he passes them both a long, smooth stick. “Don’t try to kill each other. It’s about compatibility, not winning.”

“We’re Noxians,” Talon deadpans, hefting his stick easily and taking a half-step back. “Everything’s about winning.”

Darius lets a snort of laughter escape him. In his hands, the stick feels like a twig, far too fragile and easy to snap. Despite the instructor’s words, he has no intention of pulling his blows. If Talon isn’t strong enough to meet him as a equal, he is certainly not strong enough to bear the weight of a mental link with Darius.

The first move is Talon’s, a darting forwards sweep with the stick that Darius meets with his own. Talon’s stick rings against his, hard enough to vibrate through Darius’ hands, and Darius smiles with grim satisfaction.Good. The boy isn’t holding back either.

They’ve fought together on the battlefield before, Talon even launching himself off Darius’ axe head once to come sweeping down blade-first on the enemy, but neither of them are wielding their preferred weapons. If Darius swings it like an axe, Talon flips back out of its range, but if Talon slashes as if it were a blade, Darius lets his stick absorb the hit without even flinching.

It’s an even match, Darius’ superior strength and more solid build met by Talon’s swiftness and agility. Talon can’t land a blow on Darius that counts and Darius can’t land a blow on Talon at all.

Their sticks will break before either of them cry hold, Darius can see that much in the boy’s bright eyes, but it doesn’t matter. Somehow, the spar doesn’t feel tiring but comfortable, as if he were going through a series of warm-up stretches.

He knows they’ve passed before the scientist says so.

He doesn’t smile to hear that verdict. Besides him, Talon doesn’t smile either.

* * *

 “Initiating neural handshake,” a machine voice drones and Darius can’t help but tense inside the black, full body suit and clear helmet. It’s only a simulator, it’s only meant to check if they are in fact compatible, but the thought of having Talon in his mind is more terrifying than any amount of Kaiju.

“Darius,” Talon says, voice tight instead of his usual neutral tone, “Whatever I see in there – I won’t tell anyone. You know that, right?”

“Of course,” Darius says and the only reason there’s no bite in the words is because Talon’s discomfort is practically palpable. There’s something in Talon’s mind he doesn’t want anyone seeing; Darius knows that feeling only too well.

_{sand, golden heaps of it piling up across the bazaar, heated air rich with the scent of cooking meat mingling with the sticky sweetness of dates, Draven snuffling at his side and his small hand trustingly in Darius–_

_stones, a cold dampness pervading the air, handfuls of soft moss torn from the walls and stuffed into his mouth, a stomach that won’t stop hurting–_

_bite marks on his skin from sand fleas, red and swollen, smacking Draven’s hand away to make him stop scratching at his own marks–_

_bite marks on his skin, deep and oval, washing them frantically with water to try to chase off infection and tying handfuls of washed leaves over them–_

_a man with a handful of coins and a leer, oil lamps flickering just enough light for Darius to see himself in a mirror and hate the look on his face–_

_Kavyn’s dying face, blood hot on his hands, daggers now his and the weight of Kavyn as Talon drags him to the edge and throws his corpse over–_

_running drills with the other recruits, feet kicking up sand, Draven running alongside him stubbornly even though he’s smaller–_

_balancing on a windowsill, so small and so silent, slipping over the edge and stealing into the empty room, then rolling under the bed to wait–_

_blood spraying everywhere, his axe biting down deep into his captain’s neck, the roar that erupts from his throat as he leads his men into battle–_

_agony, all-enveloping, Marcus Du Couteau staring down at him with a blade to his throat and a cold choice on his lips: ‘serve me or die, boy’–_

_Draven in the Arena, flourishing his axes, working the crowd until they’re all chanting his name but Draven looks up for Darius’s approval–_

_agony again, exhausting and pervasive, blurred vision barely able to make out blood-splattered stone walls or the Demacian guard entering–_

_the Grand General ascending Darkwill’s throne and saying with deliberate decision that he will not rule alone but as part of a triumvirate–_

_Marcus’ disappearance, the confusion of no longer having orders to obey, having the freedom to choose now and being terrified it’s a trap--_

_vivid red eyes, blood-hued from corner to corner, laughing at him as he stands stiffly and recites the message that he was ordered to bring–_

_suspicious green eyes as Katarina demands to know if he knows anything, anything at all, about where her father is and stops just short of accusing him–_

_Swain’s mouth against his, the electric buzz of the demon hand on his shoulder, the press of the man’s armor against his chest—_

_the Crimson Reaper, all blood-bright eyes and beguiling words, tracing bloodied fingers over his mouth until he parts his lips and kisses them—}_

“Left hemisphere calibrated. Right hemisphere calibrated,” the machine announces and they both jerk in their body suits at this reminder there is a world outside their minds. “Neural handshake completed.”

“Congratulations,” Viktor says dryly, his voice sounding even more mechanical than usual over the loudspeaker. “You’ll be the first Noxian Jaeger pilots.”

Neither of them smile. Neither of them look at each other. Darius feels as raw as if he were flayed open and in the corner of his eye, he can see that Talon’s covered his face with his hands.

It’s Talon who breaks the silence, who says finally with exaggerated earnestness, “I really,  _really_ want to eat some fucking dates right now.”

It startles a sound out of Darius that’s almost like a laugh.

* * *

The Jaeger is designed to their specifications.

Talon wants blades everywhere – blades at the elbows, at the knees, surrounding the head like a hedgehog’s spikes – and the engineers talk to him about balance and stability and number of engines per muscle strand until he sulkily agrees to only five blades. Darius’ demands are simpler: he wants one big axe, preferably able to thrown and retracted, and for it to be big.

They’re allowed to choose the Jaeger’s name and after three hours of drinking and discarding each other’s suggestions, they agree on  _Noxian Shadow_. None of the other Jaegers have the origin of the pilots in their names but Darius is going to make sure that Valoran knows who’s fighting for them.  

* * *

Their first kill is an unmitigated success. The sheer intensity of the boy’s focus impresses Darius favorably; over the drift, once they start wading out into the ocean, there is nothing but a cold, honed calculation. All of the memories and thoughts that make up Talon disappear, leaving nothing but a predator’s lethal intent and flickers of thought about angles, speed, attacks.   
  
Later, he wonders what his mind felt like to Talon during the fight.

* * *

 _Double Trouble_  comes back a wreck with only one pilot. Quinn has to be cut out of the cockpit and for days, nobody’s sure if her mind will ever recover. The other pilots gather together in pairs, salute her for her courage in returning alone because it’s better than mourning for the twin who didn’t make it home.   
  
_Double Trouble_  is retrofitted, repainted and sent back out to battle with new pilots and a new name. Lucian and Senna call her “ _Purifier Alpha_.”  
  
Nobody ever sees Quinn again. 

* * *

The next time they drift, Darius sees Draven through Talon’s eyes.  
  
_{‘– brother, you hear Draven? If you lose him, don’t bother come back. Your miserable life is worth nothing without him!’_  
  
_Draven’s yelling, right up in Talon’s face, but there’s no fear in Talon’s face. Darius can sense Talon’s emotions - frustration, annoyance, envy - and knows that Talon is not intimidated but impressed, jealous of what it must be like to be so loved._  
  
_More worrying is the thought, lurking at the back of Talon’s mind, that if Darius was lost on a mission, Talon would dive and dive until he found him or ran out of air.}_

* * *

“You’re lucky,” Talon says later, a faint smirk twitching at the corners of his lips. “To have someone care enough about you to threaten one of Noxus’ best assassins.”  
  
“He shouldn’t have done that,” Darius says, the words weighed and deliberate. “The Jaegers are worth too much. If either of us are lost, the priority is killing the Kaiju, then taking _Noxian Shadow_ back to the shoreline.”  
  
Talon says nothing so Darius pushes the point, “You understand that what you’re to do, Talon?”  
  
“Yeah,” Talon says and Darius doesn’t need to be connected to him to know Talon might understand but has no intention of complying.

* * *

The wide open mouth spits vivid blue fluid at them and the metal of the bladed arm sizzles for barely ten seconds before the arm is hanging by a few dozen cables at the elbow joint. Without thinking, Darius and Talon bring up the axe-hand, slashing at the thick layer of scales over the creature’s belly.

 _{Mouth!}_ One of them yells through the drift and then they shove outwards and down with the useless right hand;  _Noxian Shadow_  punches her bladed arm right into the creature’s mouth, then fires the cannon. It tears the arm off clean at the elbow but blows a hole in the Kaiju that makes it keen and collapse.  
  
There’s salt water leaking into the compod and the heads-up display is making worrying beeping noises, but they’re alive and the Kaiju isn’t. Darius feels himself grinning and knows a similar expression is splitting Talon’s face. The boy’s all teeth and triumph, wild-eyed with how close that was, and Darius does his best to be a calming presence over the drift but can’t quite manage it.  
  
He too knows how nearly the Wolf had come for them.

* * *

Darius takes samples of Kaiju tissue for Swain to study, and Talon takes  Kaiju blood for Vladimir, and neither ever speaks a word to anyone else about their thefts. They share so many secrets already. What do a few more matter?

* * *

“Is there a reason you seem so angered by Lord Rousseaux? You have been glaring at him for the last five minutes,” Swain murmurs under his breath to Darius, too discreet to even look directly at the man in question.   
  
“He–”  _Tried to buy me when I was younger, offered me gold to warm his bed, he’s just another fucking noble who thinks his money can get him anything, even me, and he still looks at me like -_  No. Those aren’t his thoughts. Those aren’t his memories. It’s Talon who hates Lord Rousseaux with a savage, relentless anger, it’s Talon who cannot look at him without glaring.   
  
“Reminds me of someone I knew,” Darius finishes, catching his words in time. Talon’s secrets are not his to share but when their minds have been connected so closely, how can he not share Talon’s rage?

* * *

They have an unspoken agreement that they will never speak of the things they see in each other’s minds and yet, when someone knocks on his door on his birthday, Darius opens it to see Talon standing there with a sticky date cake dripping honey and a bottle of Darius’ favorite drink. Darius has told no one his birthday; the only way for Talon to know the date’s significance is from Darius’ memories.  
  
“Happy Birthday,” Talon says - and Darius lets him in.


End file.
